


Big Dog, Little Dog

by stellarbisexual



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedian Richie, Dogs, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Nurse Eddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-15 23:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13623714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarbisexual/pseuds/stellarbisexual
Summary: “Roscoe, no!  NO!  We’ve talked about this.”Richie looks up, perplexed, seeking the source of the sound and finding, to his delight, a short, adorable brunette man being pulled by a beast of a mastiff, headed straight in their direction and fast, despite the snow on the ground.“He’s friendly, I swear!” the man yells, just in time for Roscoe to reach his destination: Enzo, who, to his credit, looks up at the big dog with far more curiosity than fear.Richie holds tightly to Enzo’s leash, wary (“he’s friendly”--yeah, he’s heard that before) as Roscoe recovers from the run by nosing at Enzo’s butt.“That’s what was so urgent you nearly yanked my arm out of its fucking socket?  You goddamn weirdo,” the man chides, panting, industrial strength leash extending taut from one of his small hands.





	Big Dog, Little Dog

**Author's Note:**

> I sincerely apologize for all of the Sandlot references.

“Jesus fucking Christ, could you just pee already?   _ Please _ .”

Dogwalking isn’t the worst job Richie’s had.  But right now, standing in the middle of the dirty snow in twenty-degree weather waiting for Enzo, the very particular border terrier to which he’s been entrusted, to do what Richie’s being paid to get him to do: he’d almost rather be cleaning middle school toilets again.  

He knows that relatively speaking, it’s a plum gig and he should be grateful.  Getting paid thirty bucks an hour to take care of some well-to-do couple’s tiny dog is a blessing for a comedian who has yet to book a single paid set.  

But right now, fuck Enzo.  The little asshole’s been tiptoeing around in his little cable knit sweater for fifteen fucking minutes, and he has to be cold.  Richie certainly fucking is.  

“Come  _ on _ , buddy,” he whines.  “I gave you so much water today, I know you have to.”

Just when it looks like he might have success--Enzo starts getting into his usual peeing stance--a sharp shriek cuts through the grey winter air.  

“Roscoe, no!   _ NO! _  We’ve talked about this.”  Then a yelp, followed by the muted sound of furious footsteps in the snow, getting closer and closer.

Richie looks up, perplexed, seeking the source of the sound and finding, to his delight, a short, adorable brunette man being  _ pulled _ by a beast of a mastiff, headed straight in their direction and fast, despite the snow on the ground.

“He’s friendly, I swear!” the man yells, just in time for Roscoe to reach his destination: Enzo, who, to his credit, looks up at the big dog with far more curiosity than fear. 

Richie holds tightly to Enzo’s leash, wary (“he’s friendly”--yeah, he’s heard that before) as Roscoe recovers from the run by nosing at Enzo’s butt.  

“ _ That’s _ what was so urgent you nearly yanked my arm out of its fucking socket?  You goddamn weirdo,” the man chides, panting, industrial strength leash extending taut from one of his small hands.  

A shock of a laugh works its way out of Richie’s winter-dry throat, and he takes the moment to finally take the man in up close.  He has a sweet, well-put-together face under his baby blue knit hat, big chocolatey brown eyes, rosy cheeks, and a collection of freckles across his nose.  

“I mean, to be fair, we can’t relate; to him, my dog’s butthole is gourmet.”  Richie watches the guy’s face screw up, nose wrinkling, snowflakes catching in his long eyelashes.  “Well,” Richie backtracks, about to say something horribly inappropriate (always), then immediately aborts.  It  _ is _ only two minutes into their first conversation, after all.  “This is Enzo.  He’s not really my dog; I just walk him.”  He gestures to the mastiff.  “Roscoe, right?”

The guy smiles, squatting down to pet Enzo.  “Yeah.”

Roscoe’s already trotted over to Richie for pets after hearing his name.  “Hi, buddy.  May I say, you’re freaking huge!  Almost as big as me.”  Roscoe looks tempted to jump on Richie and show him just how big he can get, but his owner sucks his teeth sharply twice, clearly a training tactic.  Roscoe immediately retreats.  Richie purses his lips, impressed.  “Wow.  You’re gonna have to teach me some of your tricks.”

“For this guy?”  The man scritches Enzo’s head, getting so close they’re nearly rubbing noses.  “He’s a little angel.  I bet he gives you no trouble at all.”  

“You’d lose that bet, my dude.  I’ve been standing out here for twenty minutes waiting for him to pee.”

The guy laughs, standing.  “Let me see if I can help you out.”  He does that teeth-sucking thing again.  “Roscoe,” he calls his dog sharply, snaps at a clean stretch of snow by the dog park’s gate, then rustles the promise of a treat in his coat pocket.  Roscoe immediately trots over, lifts his leg, and pees.  “ _ Good _ boy,” the guy says, petting him and giving him the treat.  He hands a fresh treat to Richie.  “Now you try.”

Richie’s mouth hangs open.  Never has watching a fucking dog pee been so much of a turn-on.  “I… I can’t do that thing you do with your mouth.”

“Maybe with some practice,” the guy says, smirking, and  _ sweet Jesus _ is Richie in love.

“Okay,” Richie breathes, his palms suddenly clammy despite the cold.  Lo and behold, the guy’s trick works on Enzo, too.  He turns to him, eyes filled with gratitude.  “Thank you  _ so _ much…”

“Eddie,” the guy steps forward, extending his free hand, encased in a baby blue glove.

Richie accepts it, and it’s way more of a hold than a handshake.  “Richie.”  There is a long, charged silence.  Richie wants to say something, anything.   _ Can I have your number?  Marry me?   _ What’s appropriate in a scenario like this?  He wonders.  

“Well, it was nice meeting you both,” the guy--Eddie--says, finally.  

_ Fuck.  Don’t go. _  “You, too,” Richie says, feeling a little helpless.  “Hope to see you around sometime.”

“Yeah, same,” Eddie smiles before turning on his heel and guiding Roscoe back in the direction from which they came.  “Come on, sweetheart.”

Once he’s out of earshot, Richie whispers a pathetic, “I love you,” to the air.  He pulls his phone out, noting the time.  If he’s sure of one thing, it’s that Eddie is regimented as hell.  He probably comes to this exact same park every day at the exact same time.  

He hopes.

-

The temperature the next day is slightly more forgiving, but Richie bundles himself up all the same, in anticipation of getting to Eddie and Roscoe’s dog park early and, well, basically being a giant fucking stalker.  

After Enzo pees, he seems eager to go the fuck home, but Richie takes him for a leisurely stroll around the perimeter of the park, letting him interact with the one or two other dogs braving the cold with their owners.  

Richie and Enzo are tied up with a local teacher and her pitbull when he hears a clear, high-pitched whistle.  He turns, and right there, way across the field of snow is Roscoe, tennis ball in his mouth, trotting back in the direction of Eddie, who’s holding one of those fancy ball-flingers.  Eddie’s flushed and wearing scrubs-- _ interesting _ \--as he crouches down to pat Roscoe’s sides enthusiastically before launching the ball across the field again.  

Richie gives the teacher what is very likely a somewhat rude, half-hearted  _ Well, see ya _ as he turns to make his way toward Eddie.  Once Enzo spots Roscoe, he quickly leads the way.  

“Roscoe!” Richie calls, and the mastiff turns, ears raised, ball in his teeth, bounding over as soon as he spots them.  Richie notes Eddie’s soft smile as he walks over from yards and yards away, Roscoe’s leash in one hand and the ball-flinger in the other.  Richie lets Roscoe and Enzo mess around with the ball and each other for a brief moment before squatting to pet the big guy.  “C’mere, you giant gorilla-dog-thing.”

“What did you call my dog?”  There’s fond amusement in Eddie’s voice.

“Oh,” Richie glances up, still rubbing Roscoe’s belly.  “Sorry.  It’s from  _ The Sandlot.   _ He looks just like--”

“The Beast.”  Eddie smiles.  “Yeah, people call him Hercules all the time.”  His eyes turn to Enzo, who’s approaching him curiously.  “Hi, honey.”

Something soft and warm unfurls in Richie’s stomach at the sound of the endearment from Eddie’s mouth.  “I don’t know who Enzo is, but you’re totally Smalls, and I’m Benny ‘cause I’m super tall.”  To prove it, Richie stands again, watching Eddie re-leash Roscoe.  

“Uh… no.”  Eddie scrunches his nose up.  “You’re Squints, if anything.”

Richie’s jaw drops playfully.  “ _ Squints?   _ Aw, come on.”  Eddie’s totally right, though.

“And I see myself as more of a Yeah-Yeah, to be honest.”  

Yeah-Yeah: small but mouthy, lots of attitude, Squints’ other half.  “I can buy that.”

“Enzo can be Smalls,” Eddie offers.  

It’s a nonsense conversation, but there’s a fiery little undercurrent to it, one Richie wants to keep poking at with a stick.  

“Are you coming from work?”  Richie gestures to Eddie’s scrubs.

“About to go,” he says ruefully.  “Twelve-hour shift.  I’m a nurse.”

“Well, here’s hoping I break a limb really soon.”

Eddie actually blushes, shaking his head.  “You’d also have to age backwards about ten years.  I work in pediatrics.”

Richie clutches his heart.  “That is unbearably cute.”

“Most of the time, it is the opposite,” Eddie argues, eyes wide.  “Basically just piss and--”  Eddie’s watch beeps.  “Shit.  I have to go.”

Richie can feel his face fall.  He’s so fucking obvious.  He doesn’t care.

Eddie sucks his teeth at Roscoe, already walking backwards, and Roscoe follows obediently.  “I guess I know where and when to find you now, though, huh?”

Richie nods dumbly, watching as Eddie bites his lip and finally turns on his heel, a skip in his step as he and Roscoe jog across the field to the park entrance.  Enzo’s little bark finally breaks him out of his trance.  He hits his forehead with the heel of his hand.  “ _ Shit! _ ”  He forgot to get Eddie’s number.  Again.  Though considering Eddie’s parting words, he might not need it.  He smiles and giddily shows Enzo the way back home. 

-

The following week is not a great one for Richie.  On Monday morning, the Espositos (Enzo’s owners) decide to bring back their old dogwalker, thus kicking Richie to the curb.  They’re nice about it, reassuring Richie that he’s been great and that they’re “only bringing Trixie back because she’s a family friend and blah blah blah.”

To say Richie’s upset would be a gross understatement; it was a great gig, but more importantly, now he not only doesn’t have Eddie’s number--he doesn’t have anything bringing him back to his neighborhood anytime soon (besides all the stalking).

On Thursday night, commuting back from his  _ new _ dogwalking assignment (a boisterous black lab named Sugar), Richie slips and falls on a patch of ice and wakes up in a hospital bed.  He’s surrounded by curtains and disembodied murmuring voices on three sides, and he feels woozy as fuck.  He tries to sit up.

“Wow, nope.”  He lays back against the pillows with a whine.  His mind starts to race.  Who brought him here?  Is Sugar okay?

Someone slips in through an opening in the curtains.  “You’ve gotta stop following me,” the guy says, sounding thoroughly amused.

“Eddie,” Richie says, smiling, then winces.  

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Eddie smirks, eyeballing his chart, then expertly pulling his stethoscope from around his neck to listen to Richie’s heartbeat.  

Richie’s voice sounds weak but pleased to his own ears.  “Holy shit, you’re here.  Wait.  Where is here?  What happened?”

“Easy, Dorothy.  You slipped on some ice and you have a concussion, but you’re going to be fine.  Sugar the dog is also fine.  She’s with her owners in the waiting room.”

Richie’s eyes rake over Eddie’s features, his scrubs, his neat little hands (bare!) as they work with the stethoscope.  He wonders if his heartbeat’s betraying just how much he’s enjoying the view up close.  “Are you sure I’m not dreaming?  This looks suspiciously like a dream I’ve had.  Recently, in fact.  You used the stethoscope on me in a highly unorthodox manner.”

“I’m flattered,” Eddie laughs, scribbling something onto Richie’s chart and moving on to take his blood pressure.  “But no, this is very real.”  He leans in, his mouth just inches away from Richie’s ear.  “And I am really at work, so  _ shh _ .”

“Yes, Nurse Eddie.  No funny business.  Scout’s honor.”  

Eddie gives him a look as if to say,  _ There’s no way you’re a fucking boy scout, not now, not ever. _

“I thought you worked with kids.”

“They were short-staffed up here,” Eddie explains.  “Big bus accident.”

“Lucky me.”  Richie gives Eddie a toothy grin--then winces again.  “I’ll recover that much quicker whilst having the privilege of looking upon your gorgeous face.”

Eddie hands him a plastic cup of water.  “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”  He leans on the metal bar at the side of Richie’s hospital bed, watching as he drains the cup.  “I never got to ask you what  _ you _ do.  Besides walk Enzo.”

“I’m a comedian.”

Eddie makes a skeptical face.

Richie gasps dramatically--or as dramatically as he can, given the circumstances.  “What?  You don’t think I’m funny?”

“ _ Ehhhh _ ,” Eddie considers, tilting his head, his expression deepening.  Richie pouts.  “I have to go.”  Richie pouts  _ hard.   _ Eddie tosses his cup in the trash and squeezes his shoulder.  “Just sit tight.  Rest.  The doctor will be with you in a minute.”

“Wait,” Richie says before Eddie can slip through the curtains again.  “I need a kiss.  In order to properly convalesce.”

“ _ Wow.  Seriously? _ ”  Eddie blushes and stuffs his hands into his pockets.  

Richie nods insistently.  “Dead serious.  Plant one on me.  Now.  In the name of my health.  And science.”

Eddie glances quickly behind him, making sure the curtains are completely drawn, and saunters over.  “I could have you arrested, you know.”

“You wouldn’t,” Richie says hopefully.  “You love me.”

Eddie leans on the bar of the bed again, this time lowering his face so it’s just inches from Richie’s.  “My dog loves you.  I only like you.”

“It’s a start.”

Eddie’s smirk melts into something softer, his eyes big and warm and beautiful under the fluorescent lights.  “Yes, it is.”  He touches three fingertips to Richie’s chin and turns his head just as precisely as he does everything else, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Aw man,” Richie says, though he’s secretly thrilled to have gotten this far.  “The cheek?  That’s basically a rejection.”

Without missing a beat, Eddie leans down again, lips slotting against Richie’s in a way that makes his stomach flip and his toes curl, making a sweet, wet sound when he pulls away.  “Satisfied, maniac?”

“Very,” Richie breathes.

Eddie pulls back.  Richie lifts his head off the pillow, trying to follow, but Eddie pushes him gently back down.  “ _ Rest.   _ My shift just started,” he whispers.  “I’m not going anywhere.”

Richie bites his lip.  “Better not.”

Eddie winks at him before finally slipping back through the curtains and drawing them shut.

-

Their first official date starts with drinks and ends with Richie at Eddie’s place, Roscoe’s big head resting heavily and happily in his lap, the rest of him taking up the rest of the couch.  Eddie gives a put-upon sigh, hauling Roscoe’s hind legs so he can slip underneath them.

They’re starting to actually get to know each other, beyond the dogs and the tricks and the banter.  Richie makes Eddie laugh twice,  _ really  _ laugh, and the second time it’s so fucking adorable, Richie has to lean over, cradle his head, and give him a long kiss.  Eddie’s smile doesn’t fade as their mouths open against each other, his fingers gently playing with the frayed collar of Richie’s shirt.  Before he can toss Roscoe off the couch, the big guy’s already gotten up--not to give them privacy but to jump into the nonexistent space between them, effectively headbutting Richie and knocking them apart.  

“ _ Roscoe _ \--” Eddie chides, dragging him to the bedroom, turning back to Richie to explain, “This is why I’m still single.”

Eddie swiftly returns and plants a knee on either side of Richie’s hips, pulling him up for another deep kiss.  

When they part, Richie hooks his index fingers in Eddie’s belt loops and murmurs, “I’d like to believe it’s because you were waiting for me to come crashing into your life.”

“Yes, you’re just the guy I always dreamt of meeting when I was a budding little homo,” Eddie says, but his soft expression belies the sarcasm.  He pushes a couple of Richie’s more stubborn curls back from his face.  “Getting ahead of yourself, are we?”  

There’s so much promise in the sound of his voice that it makes Richie grin and say, “I hope so.”


End file.
